


The Measure of Patience

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Fluffy OTP feels at the end, M/M, PWP, sub!Gene feels and top!Sam feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4343438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's the one who asked for Sam to do it in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Measure of Patience

**Author's Note:**

> Semi-short pwp! Sam prancing about in a mini skirt for Gene's enjoyment! Lessons being taught with through smutty smut! I don't know what made me write this, but I'm really incredibly happy with the finished product. It might be pwp but there's still thinky!Gene and otp feels going on at the same time.
> 
> A bit of beta work by **talkingtothesky** , plus some handholding as well ~~(posting fic is SCARY)~~.
> 
> Sam and Gene make me write a long of things I normally wouldn't. Like, writing kink isn't something I really have a history of yet I really like trying out new things with these two.

'Bollocks,' Gene mutters, on his knees with Sam smirking overhead, doing as he's been told and keeping his hands to himself as Sam hitches up the edge of that tight little skirt of his an inch more. Absolute rubbish, like everything else. That doesn't mean Gene wants it to stop.

The smug bastard knows what he's doing, and it's Gene's own fault for letting it go this far, for knowing it's going even further. He can't help himself as he stares, licking at his lips and eyeing the pale flesh of Sam's thigh, starving for it. Nuzzle his face into it, lick the taste of leather off Sam's skin. See just what Sam's got on under it, if there's anything at all.

'Like what you see?' Sam's voice, coming from on high, other than being slightly breathless, is astonishingly calm. The twitch of a smirk still lurks at the corner of his lips, smug and self-assured, fully in control of the situation. Of course he's in control – Sam knows what he's doing. Gene's well aware of that just as obviously as his tarted-up DI is, but how could he not? He's the one who asked for Sam to do it in the first place.

Of course he likes what he sees, not that he should. Sam, shoulders pressed back to his hideous wallpaper, hips jutting forwards with his legs spread to keep himself balanced. His arousal is clear and obvious, pressed into black leather, and Gene's is struggling to contain itself in the confines of his pants.

Sam, in that tight little skirt and that sheer red top, shouldn't give him the horn. Sam and leather in general, that shouldn't get at him the way it does, only it bloody well does. When he fucks Sam, he likes to keep his gloves on. It's even better when he doesn't give Sam the chance to get out of his jacket. There's something about the smell that heightens the experience, sets every bloody nerve of his on fire, even some he's sure he never had before.

His attention shifts downwards, a momentary lapse. He shouldn't even think in the direction of Sam and those endless leather boots, the ones he slipped on and zipped up with such care, because it doesn't just make it hard to focus, it derails him completely and sends him shooting off into the void. Sam had done most of his dressing in his narrow little bathroom, Gene sweating as he waited on the other side of the folding, and if not for the skirt and the top and those _heels_ , he's just a bloke who happens to be wearing a bird's kit. No make-up, just the flush of his skin, the pink of his lips, and his haircut that looks, on a good day, silly.

The whole of this should be silly, really, that short skirt and that top, with Sam's nipples dark behind that stretch of sheer fabric. Sam's not sweating it at all, is pulling it all off rather effectively. In fact it's all a bit too effective for Gene's good, like it's something he's going to come to regret.

Good days... What sort of day is _this_?

Sam kept the boots for last, left on the bed like a present within a present, Gene knowing just where this was all heading. Seeing Sam in that get up was one things. Sam in those boots? _Bloody hell_.

Ruddy hell, he'd salivated just watching Sam put them on. No telling what it'll do to him, watching Sam take them off. If he even lets him take them off. He'd like them up over his shoulders, maybe just wrapped tight around his back, heels digging in as Sam held on for dear life.

He even did a little walk around in them, once they were all done up – after he'd got Gene to put up the bed to give them more room, Sam's flat rather lacking in space. It was like watching a model on a runway, watching Sam, each step of his steady and confident. Turned around at the end, showing off how the skirt fit his shapely arse so nicely, how the boots hugged his calves. Had Sam ever done this sort of thing before, because if not (for as far as first times can go) this is bloody impressive.

He groans, grinds his palms against his still-clothed thighs. No, think too much about that and he's going to shoot off in his trousers – they're already too bloody tight. It's either that, or he's gonna forget how to breathe. Which of those things would be less embarrassing, come the next day? Just knowing Sam _knew_ , either would be beyond unbearable.

'Yes,' he husks out roughly, breath gone ragged. He digs his nails into the smooth fabric of his trousers. 'Now hurry on up and get on with it, and take it all _off_.'

The smirk softens and Sam goes 'tsk-tsk' as he lets the skirt slip back down. 'The purpose of this lesson was to teach you some patience, Guv – you're the one who asked for it.' There's a glint in his eyes, and the smirk sharpens, one teasing finger brushing along the tight edge of the skirt. 'Don't tell me you've already forgotten.'

Gene swallows down his groan. His knees are starting to ache, the threadbare carpet isn't the kindest in the world. He's probably going to tear a hole into his trousers at this rate if his nails keep digging at them the way they have been, and now Sam's not moving at all. It's one thing when it comes to work, and something else entirely when it comes to getting his hands on Sam and buggering him into the next year, but it irritates him all the same – he bloody well hates it when Sam is right.

He also hates it when he's made to wait, only there's something infinitely _right_ about it that makes the final release all the sweeter for him having suffered along the way. Sam might be suffering as well, but he's the smug-arsed prick who's holding all the cards.

Not that Sam had wanted to go along with this at first. Thought it would be ridiculous. Does he think it's ridiculous now? Likely not, seeing how good he is at it. Maybe that's what put him off wanting to do it in the first place, Gene seeing just how _good_ he was. He's asked Sam for a lot of things, since they started shagging, and Sam's asked for a few odd things as well (like cuddling – you only cuddle a bird, and Gene knows that, for all Sam's girlish tendencies, he has a awful set of tits).

This blows all those other things out of the water.

'Course I do,' he grits out, jaw gone tense. 'Take your time then, _darling_.'

Sam's still grinning at him, the bastard. He drops his gaze and it's suddenly that much more intimate, Sam not paying any attention to him at all. He flicks the tip of his tongue across his top lip, pulling the edge of the skirt off, that same inch of skin revealed, and more beyond. Gene reminds himself to breathe and _stares_ , knees more than aching now, sweat rolling down his cheek. Sam whimpers, lashes fluttering, as the skirt grazes over his erection, showing off the lacy red knickers he's got on, and Gene nearly flat-lines after seeing _that_.

'Sam.' He could say more, he _can't_. He groans, doesn't even try and hold it in, wants to touch Sam, wants to touch _himself_. The rules have been stated already, at the start of it, and he's come too far to come too early.

Sam doesn't look up. He closes his eyes, tilts his head back, pink-cheeked and breathless. Gene's gaze immediately drops lower. The skirt is hitched up as far as it can go, showing off the red lace knickers, hardly enough fabric to cover Sam's cock, swollen with need.

Do it, he wants to say, but he groans that urgency instead. No urging him on, no dirty talk or calling him a slut, though just how this isn't a blatant flagrant show of _that_ , Gene doesn't know. He's said too much already – wait, no he's not, that line is well-defined, even if Gene's thoughts are blurry. Sam asked him a question, and the rules allowed him to at least reply.

Sam might not even be paying attention to him anymore. He palms his prick through the faint wisp of cloth, gently rocking his hips forward to increase the friction. He's touching himself like Gene's not even there, _watching him_ , _needing him_ , not moving because he knows if he does then he's forfeiting the whole entire thing.

Sam palms himself again, grips at himself through the lace, squeezes and rubs and _groans_ , hips giving another bucking roll. He doesn't stop, now that he's started, squeezing himself roughly, soft panting that grows harsher with each shuddering breath. He gives one long, harder squeeze, biting hard at his lower lip as he stops a moment, needing to catch his breath. He lets himself go, the glint of pre-cum bright against Sam's palm, and he tips his head back down to watch himself as he fingers the elastic band of his knickers.

Gene inhales –

The tip of Sam's tongue is exposed as he shoves the knickers down without care, moaning and shuddering as the cloth catches on and grazes the head of his cock. There's no stopping. He gives another shove and his erection pops free, bobbing proudly and smacking back against his belly. Sam winces, leaves the lace knickers wrapped about his thighs as he licks his palm before he rubs at the reddened tip of his cock, roughly takes himself in hand. He stops playing it slow, like he's reached the point that's even too much for him, fisting himself with tireless abandon as his head tips back against the wall. His mouth is slack with pleasure, the whole of his frame vibrating in his need, and when he does stop, Gene's amazed he's even able.

His own mouth opens, but Sam speaks first. He isn't even looking at him, just gripping himself round the root of his prick, and what he says is the sweetest of commands.

'Mouth,' just that word, first, juddering as Sam groans. 'Suck me off, please.'

Gene's fingers are somewhat numbed by their long rest against his thighs, and he springs into motion with a creak and a groan, his muscles protesting the sudden shift. He ends up on his knees in front of Sam, but the aching is a distant memory, Gene reaching up to take hold of Sam's arse-cheeks, nuzzling his cheek against the rough fabric of his bunched-down knickers. He nips along the edge, hears Sam's audible wince as he lets it snap back, sucks a kiss above the red line the sting of the elastic left across the pale expanse of Sam's thigh. He digs his nails in to get a better hold on Sam, feels the quaver that runs through him as he sucks harder, the mark he leaves glistening so satisfyingly as Gene eases back, and he can't help but smirk.

His own cock twitches when the tip of Sam's cock leaves a wet smear across his forehead, back into his hair, and Gene winces as he settles back into a more comfortable position. This is, after all, a lesson in patience, and his aching hard-on hasn't been the death of him yet. Might have a trick or two he can still show Sam.

'Guv?' Sam's voice shakes, just like the rest of him, and Gene licks at the sweat-salt of his skin, the hint of leather, lowering his head and resting his cheek against one thigh as he lets Sam's arse go, runs his hands down the curve of those bloody magnificent boots.

'Hold your horses, Gladys,' he snaps back, breathing in the scent of warm leather, groaning despite his better intentions. Better intentions? His are the dirtiest around. 'Where did you even find these things? I hope you plan on keeping them.'

'Annie,' Sam gasps, Gene kneading the backs of his calves. 'A-Annie helped me find them, actually. N-nice little vintage shop, y-you'd probably love it there.'

'She knew just what you'd be getting up to in them?' He noses the firm leather, licks a line upwards until his tongue is pressed against hotter flesh. Sam shakes, moaning. Gene can't see Sam's hands, nor can he feel them, but his mind's eye imagines them braced backwards against the wall, Gene otherwise having taken over control of Sam's centre of balance.

'She's l-learned not to ask. _Guv_.'

'Patience, Tyler.' He sucks another kiss into the warmth of Sam's skin, and it's not like he took that breathy plea as an order, but he's already on the move. One last knead to the backs of Sam's calves, one last salty-sweet lick of good leather, and Gene's tilting his head back to focus on the centre of Sam's urgency.

He raises it with a single thumb, head glossy with pre-cum now, and he closes his eyes as he takes a long, leisurely lick of the stuff, tongue swirling around to get as much of it as he can. Once upon a time, he never could have imagined himself worshipping his DI's cock the way he's come to love – he really does love it. Of course, once upon a time, he couldn't have imagined said DI tarting himself in leather, sheer gauze, and lace, but knowing Sam has honestly just been one eye-opening experience after another, and not all of them bad.

'You taste good,' he mutters, giving another languid lick, and the plaintive little whimper that serves as Sam's response really puts all of Gene's wheels in motion and gets him back on track. He sucks the tip into his mouth, knows he do it hard but aims for achingly gentle instead, which only causes Sam to whimper once more, sharpened by desire. Gene swirls his tongue over the head, licks along the slit, Sam moaning and trembling as Gene brushes from root to tip and then back again, only using his thumb. Gene's aching as well, _needs_ to touch himself, but he remembers the bastard bloody rules and doesn't lose control. That thought has him sucking harder on Sam's length, all softness gone, and it's no real surprise that Sam cries out suddenly, wordless yet urgent, as he shakes and shoots off in Gene's mouth.

'Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God...' He gives his hips a little roll, Gene's mouth full of flesh and come now, angling himself better to let some of the salty stuff start its slide down his throat. 'I'm sorry, I should have, oh God, oh _Guv_.' He pants, gone wordless again, and as he regains clarity, his words also regain the clarity of control: 'Touch yourself,' he says, almost a growl. 'I need you to come for me, _now_.'

It does catch him off guard, _that_ , and he sucks even harder at Sam's over-sensitised cock, grinding his palm into his own aching erection. Sam's given his permission, and it's sweet release to finally give into that need, sweeter even with the suddenness of the orgasm that slams into him. He comes with his mouth still full of _Sam_ , heat and flesh. The ripples of it roll down through him, and he sucks more before swallowing the rest of it down, feeling more than hearing Sam's whimper as he's released with a wet pop.

Gene blinks as he pulls back, tipping his head back a little to gaze up at Sam. His shoulders are still pressed to the wall, and Gene places one hand against the thin wallpaper as he attempts to catch his breath, forehead to Sam's leather-clad knee. He's lost something, and all he knows is that he needs to find it again. Groaning as he pulls his head back and looks up at Sam, he finds himself staring once more. Sam's skin is flushed with heat and damp with sweat, and he's grinning down at Gene with a look of triumph, his dark eyes so bright.

'Made a mess because of you,' he grunts, needing to say something – anything – to right the order of things, put himself back in control. That's a bloody good start, only made better as he continues: 'You bet those pretty lace knickers of yours you'll be cleaning it up.'

Scant moments have passed since Gene let him go, and it's only now that Sam's seeming to catch onto that. The whole of his carefully composed self crumples, legs shuddering and giving out beneath him. He slides down the wall, arse hitting the floor with a dull thud, legs spreading out around Gene, Gene slumping forward into the heat of Sam's body, resting his forehead against the curve of one gauze-covered shoulder.

He gives a little chuckle, soft and fluttering, light and airy as breeze. 'If you expect me to do your laundry, you either need to pay me – or let me move in.'

Gene's huff is just as quiet. 'I'll definitely have to do right by you then – just how much would your services cost?' He shoots a grin at Sam and has his hair yanked on for his troubles. Moving in is complicated business. Better to distract Sam, change the subject for now.

'You ever done this before?' He's whispering, not that he knows why. The way he doesn't know why he's only just asking Sam about this now. When he'd first suggested it, he hadn't really found himself too hung up on that little detail. Now that it's gone and been done, the feeling that he's gone overboard with it, that he's lost something of himself, perhaps even forever, is enhanced.

Sam blinks and his lips quirk into a grin. 'One of my girlfriends – Tabitha – loved to get dressed up like this and just let me _watch_.'

'She let you shag her too, didn't she?'

'Oh, yeah.' Sam's cheeks are burning hotter now, how's it he acts so shy after having put on a show like that? 'Course she did. Such a sweet girl, really accommodating, was Tabitha. She's a lawyer now, I think – well, she'll be one, eventually.' He smiles, one of his weird smiles, a bit happy and a bit sad at the same time.

'Enough about your exes.' He nuzzles Sam's cheek, presses a chaste kiss to his lips. 'Learned your lesson, did you?'

He's shut his eyes again, so he hears rather than sees Sam's amused grin. The groan, however, is loud and clear. 'I dunno, Guv – did you learn _yours_?'

He eases back to look up at Sam, smirks as he runs his hands down Sam's leather-clad legs. 'Looking forward to getting these pretty legs of yours up over my shoulders – give you the pounding you so thoroughly deserve.'

Sam's the one who's smirking now, tilting his head to the side, still just as pink-cheeked, run a bit ragged but not even closed to thoroughly shagged out. 'Shagging seems awfully complicated right now. How about we worry about remembering standing up first? I'm not sure my legs still work.'

'Right, right, of course,' and he nuzzles a kiss into the crook of Sam's sweat-damp neck, licks a line, sucks a biting kiss into pliant flesh, squeezes the handfuls he has of leather. 'Just need you to know, the next round's gonna be even better than all this.'

Sam groans and shudders, laugh soft and rough, still haggard with his need. 'Gonna have to have you try really hard... I mean, s'been pretty bloody intense.'

Gene gives a laugh of his own, just as worn as the rest of him, has to rest his forehead against Sam's shoulder again, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly. Sam cards his fingers back through Gene's hair, gently as anything, lets his hand come to rest at the nape of Gene's neck. It makes Gene believe he could lose that something again, whatever it was – he's sure he'll figure it out eventually, he just needs time.

It's a good stopping point, at least for now. Gene knows that Sam's trying to teach him a very important lesson here, and Gene is rather fervently looking forward to further studies on the subject. He grins, presses a kiss to Sam's shoulder, feels the judder of Sam's body as he groans in response.

After all, if tonight's meant to teach him anything, it's that good things come to those who wait.

He's forcing himself to stand up when Sam snags him by the wrist, smirking up at him. 'I meant it, you know.'

Perhaps it's just as rubbish as everything else has been, complicated, but complicated things can be worthwhile – they must be, because Sam's the most complicated thing that's ever crashed into his life, and Gene's rather grown fond of having him around. Gene twists his hand about and Sam's slides down to fit with his, and he's still smirking, of course the smug bastard is.

Sam grunts as he gets tugged upwards, stumbling against Gene when he pulls a bit too hard. Now Gene's the one who's grinning, arms full of his tarted-up DI, and Sam fondly rolling his eyes before Gene kisses him with everything he's got, plus a little bit more.

'Yeah,' he says, when they can both breathe. 'I know.'


End file.
